Monthly Archives: February 2010

There is a couple that is very dear to our family. They have been together for quite a number of years, but due to the desire to pursue certain professional and personal goals, they have put off having children till now.

A couple in their early to mid-thirties without children doesn’t raise half an eyebrow where I live, or where they live, but on their occasional trips to India, they are alternately interrograted,

Problem, aah?

guilt-tripped,

*Sigh* “I wonder when I will get to hold my grandchild/grandnephew”

and insulted

Girls these days with their ambitions, lofty ideas, equality and all..

with the stress on what they consider to be the most disgusting aspect of her female person.

Coming from family members who actually do care about you, in their uniquely bizzarre and twisted way, makes this okay. Even despite their almost flawless ability to turn you into a borderline homicidal freak.

Well, not okay, but Grr.. GRRRR.. %&%$ (under the breath) WHATEVER.

You get the general picture.

The lovely couple I’m referring to were recently visited by another couple. Friends of friends who were new to the city. Without so much as chit-chat about the weather or waiting for the coffee to cool, the Lady Visitor asks my friends,

So.. no kids, eh? Is there a problem?

At this point, she lowers her voice to a hush and leans into my friend, as if to indicate that she invites such intimate confidences all the time.

My girlfriend, being a normal and discreet human being, found herself totally thrown.

On a scale of 1 to 10 where 1 is appropriate and 10 is totally inappropriate, please note how the Lady Visitor (and total stranger) whacked it out of the stadium for a stunning 60, only present on the scale of How Is This Your Frikking Business Again??

But wait. She even improved her game.

The girlfriend’s spouse, who is not easily gobsmacked, politely explained that they could not be sure if there was a problem or not since they had not actively been trying to make babies. He may even have tried to look stern, but this is always harder for nice people and completely lost on the insensitive shmuckteroons.

She placed her hand on my friend’s arm, like the True Friend she wanted to be and said:

But of course. Postgraduate education at ivy league institutions has this annoying tendency to make you forget the basic facts of biology. But hey, with such good friends, who needs biology?

Who needs to plan parenting when complete strangers will tell you that you should just f%&# a lot ASAP before your biological ship sails?

None of us is who. We are in good hands and those wrists are wearing watches dammit.

And because my head is still spinning, did I mention that THEY JUST MET THIS WOMAN??

In my book, her questions are the equivalent of going up to a complete stranger and enquiring,

Wow. That vaginal thrush infection is a real bitch, eh?

or

Doggiestyle really does it for you, huh?

I’m sorry. Was that inappropriate? Did I offend your innate sense of decency? Did I insult your good breeding? I just assumed that since we’ve known each all of two seconds now, we could just move right onto your Hoo-haa. This is just me being concerned about your well-being. Don’t be so sensitive now.

Indians get a lot of press for being lovely, informal and friendly people. This is largely the case. It is the blessing and bane of living in India that people will not leave you alone much. If you can’t find your way, if you half-faint in the middle of a street, if you’re struggling with two kids and baggage at the crowded airport, chances are that a complete stranger in the crowd will come up to you, offering their concern, help and often a pair of arms.

This is the wonderful bit. This bit will make you smile.

But what is it exactly about that welcome, that smile, that gives some people an automatic license to exercise over-familiarity? To go straight for the jugular of all that is sacred and personal and often, very sensitive?

So, in summary. NO.

Don’t ask me about my preferred form of contraception or current state of Hoo-haa unless

a) you have known me since before I had tits (which was waaaay late, but now its my turn to overshare)

b) I really, really like you and we have an instant and amazing connection. Five seconds doesn’t count.

If you’re too dumb to resist, I need you to know that I absolve myself of all responsibility for the look of hurt and disgust on your face when I casually ask whether you have recurrent dreams of getting gangbanged.

A congenial arm draped over his shoulder. His father blew out a perfect ring of smoke as they stood on the lawn contemplating the elegant young woman who was soon to be his wife.

The perfect dark column of her neck elongated as she flung her head back to laugh, revealing the uneven pearls of her smile.

“That’s a beautiful girl, son. Beautiful, smart and accomplished. I can see why it had to be her.”

He found himself nodding in agreement as his mind wandered to a dark winter morning spent entwined in lazy, warm sheets. The smooth, dark plane of her back neatly parted by an exquisite spine. Vertebrae that made a virtuouso of his fingers. The delight in composing melodies on skin and bone, peaks and valleys. The frown that creased her brow as she half-turned towards him, her sleep interrupted. Her half growling chuckle as he pinned her down, intoxicated by her musk, her softness, the ripe otherness in her.

I wanted to do an entire post about why I love to travel and get away from home.

Till I stumbled upon a post about why I love to come home again.

Armaan, He of the Widest Grin, has a f.l.a.w. Yes, its a funny way to write that word, I know, but this is my unbelievably perfect baby we are talking about and well.. I can’t put it out there so.. so there.

Anyway, the f.l.a.w. is the inability to apologize. To say sorry and give a hug. Now, this is only difficult when he is the thwacker/ the puncher/the pincher. He’s only two and half, but he has recognized the most fundamental of truths.

Apologizing is the biggest bitch when you are the wrong-doer. The one who hurt someone.

In other situations with other evil-doers, he’s empathetic and all over the hugging, the comforting and the pat-pat like he invented it.

In Casa de Where-The-Hell-Was-Prevention-When-I-Needed-It tonight, there was eye poking. The kind where the Leetl one socks it with his pointy finger to the eye of the Beeg one. Because he needed to learn a lesson or something.

Wailing ensues and we admonish Armaan sharply.

” Say sorry.”

“Si unnskyld.”

The bilingual berating fell flat and Armaan wriggled adorably, giggled inappropriately and stuck out his arms to us.

“Take me. Take Armaan. Wanna cuddle.”

“No,” we insist, because we are goddamn heroes made of iron and steel, “Not until you apologize to your brother. Say sorry.”

Standoff time.

After 5 minutes and using up the Gawd-I’m-so-damn-adorable-how-DO-you-stay-mad-at-me card, he turns to the Quivering Lips. The Moistened Lashes. Lower Lip threatening to quiver all the way into his perfect chin.

He takes us for total amateurs, really.

This goes on till Arvind, past tears now, sits up and speaks gravely.

“Armaan, I know you don’t like to say sorry, so just give me a hug, ok? And we’ll pretend this never happened. Come to me.”

Armaan, past the initial “Dude, think another think, yo” indifference crawls over pillows into his brother’s arms for a hug.

And then, “Sowwy, Adoo. Sowwy.” we hear him whisper ever so softly.

” ‘S okay.” says Beeg.

If I’m ever lucky enough to croak in peace, then I want this moment to remember. The way it tugged, melted and re-set itself into my lining.